


Fragments

by bronweathanharthad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Mordor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronweathanharthad/pseuds/bronweathanharthad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One step. Then another. That is all that Frodo and Sam can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> tw: derealization/depersonalization, death ideation

One step. Then another.

    Do not look at the world around you. Ignore the desolation. Ignore the blackness. Ignore the poison that you breathe.

    Keep your eyes open whenever possible. And think of nothing at all before you close them. You must think of absolutely nothing if you want a prayer of a good night’s rest.

    Just one step. Just a long series of one step.

 

The hobbits plodded on in silence. Breathing was an intensive process, and neither wished to use any much-needed air for speech.

    Water constantly pervaded Sam’s thoughts. Memories of dousing himself with water on hot days. The memory of when he nearly drowned to follow his master. Sometimes simply the word “water.” He might very well die of thirst before they found anything drinkable in this wasteland, but the thought of water was better than nothing at all.

    The heat was unbearable. He sweated until his sweat grew cold, and then he shivered from the sweat. It was a perpetual fever for which no remedy existed.

    And he was tired, so impossibly tired. His entire body ached with every step, and his lungs cried out with every breath.

    But Sam could not begin to fathom what his master must be suffering, and simply trying to imagine frightened him immensely.

    Frodo’s dead, sunken eyes constantly darted about frantically. He always appeared on the verge of collapsing, and Sam feared that he might never get up if he did.

    But his silence was the worst of all. He made no sounds of any kind, let alone anything resembling speech. Even his breathing, labored as it was, was quiet.

    Was Frodo still there, or had these many months of hopeless toil completely erased every trace of him?

 

_His name was Bilbo. He took you in and raised you as he would his own son. Remember his face? He sounded like this._

_His name was Bilbo. He took you in and raised you as he would his own son. Remember his face? His voice … what was his voice?_

_His name was Bilbo. He looked like … where is his face? I had it just recently. Come on, Frodo, you know this._

_His name was Bilbo. He loved me, and I him. What did that feel like?_

_Come on. Remember the face. You must remember the face. It must be there. I only need to find it._

_Bilbo. His name was Bilbo._

    He felt himself die with his last memory. He could no longer tell whether he was in his own body.

    Pain was the only thing he felt. The bone-deep aches that worsened with every step. The burning in his soul mingling with the unshakable cold in his body. No longer did he feel the pain in his shoulder when everything else hurt so much more.

    Maybe he would die in his sleep. Maybe his next step would be his last.

    Death would be a welcome relief, anything better than succumbing to his burden.

 

Frodo finally did collapse. Sam was surprised that he made it this far, but it nonetheless hurt.

    When he did speak, he spat out incomplete words in between desperate gasps. Sam didn’t know what caused Frodo to break so suddenly and so completely, and he had no desire to find out.

    What was Sauron doing to him? Why couldn’t he have one moment of peace? And how could Frodo possibly find the strength to continue to fight when his strength was so clearly waning?

    Sam knew he could do nothing to comfort Frodo. Frodo’s hope was long gone – he’d said so himself – and nothing had any chance of lessening his burden.

    But Sam wanted to help. No, it was more than that. He _needed_ to help. He _absolutely had to help_.

    But he couldn’t help, at least not that he could see. And his helplessness made him angrier than he had ever felt in his life.

 

Frodo had never felt so many conflicting desires in his life.

    He wanted to scream and scream until his voice gave out, and he wanted to never make another sound again. He wanted to cry and to keep that turmoil to himself. He wanted to sleep and needed to keep walking, and he wanted to die but knew he needed to live, if only for a few more days.

    How much time had passed? Seconds? Months? Were they any closer to the mountain?

    _You will fail, and you know it. You knew it before you passed beyond the Bounds._

_Why not give in now? You have suffered enough. Put an end to it._

_It will be painless, I promise._

_No. I cannot. I must not._

_But you will._

 

They had to move faster, they had to. The mountain was still miles away, and for all Sam knew it might still take days to locate the heart of the mountain.

    But even this pace was more than enough to leave Sam struggling for air, and more than enough to leave the deepest aches he had ever felt in his life. If through some miracle he survived, Sam wondered if those aches would stay with him for the rest of his life.

    And he simply had too much heart to ask Frodo to move faster.

    And even if he somehow made such a request, he doubted that Frodo was physically capable of moving any faster.

    They had discarded the weight of the Orc armor, and from what Sam could see that had made no difference. Frodo moved a little faster for a while, but of course it could never last. If anything, Sauron’s wrath increased tenfold. Sure, breathing was a little easier without the helmets, but what good was that when his master’s tormenter was stronger than ever?

    They still had so far to go. How much more could Frodo take before he broke?

 

_So you refuse my offer._

_You want to die? Then give in. I promise it will be a swift and painless end. You will get your wish, and I will get mine._

_And all your loved ones? Your beloved Bilbo, who brought this upon you? Your beloved Gandalf, who made you his pawn? Your beloved servant, who goes on foolishly hoping? I promise that they, too, will be brought to a swift and painless end. Because they will die if they will not join me. You think you’re so noble and selfless. Why not give in for them?_

    With every old step, Frodo was certain that his torment could not grow any worse. With every new step, he was proven wrong.

    They had spent so many hours walking, and the mountain still looked no closer. Was this one of Sauron’s tricks? Was he somehow concealing the mountain’s true location in hopes that they would wander until they died of thirst?

    For that matter, was Sam another trick? What if Sam had died long ago? What if this vision was leading him to his own doom?

    No, Sam had to be real. He had heard his voice, saying things that only Sam himself would say.

    _I’m sorry, Sam. I will let you down, I’m sure of it._

 

Normally they would walk during the day and rest and night, but here it was so dark that they could not tell the difference.

    Instead it became walking when they could and sleeping when their bodies could not carry them any further.

    Of course this land was so bleak and so oppressive that Sam wanted to sleep all the time. Sometimes sleeping lifted his spirits some, but it seemed that no matter how tired he was, it always took valuable time for him to settle his mind.

    Some nights he remained awake for fear of being captured again, but tonight it was different. They were well off the only road. They hadn’t seen any Orcs since escaping captivity. As far as Sam knew, every threat was on the road, marching off to fight in some war unfamiliar to the hobbits.

    Frodo had fallen asleep almost before his head hit the ground, and Sam deeply worried for him in the days ahead. Sam had seen the blood on his neck and how he recoiled from some threat that Sam could not see. Each day Sam thought that Frodo’s condition couldn’t possibly worsen anymore, but by now he knew that things would indeed get worse.

    If he could afford to, Sam knew he would cry.

    A flash of lightning gave him a brief look at Frodo’s sleeping body. His trembling body lay in an uncomfortably tight fetal position, and his face contorted from a pained grimace to an expression of utter fear.

    Sam thought that waking up Frodo would be a bad idea. If Frodo was this distraught in his sleep, he would certainly wake up in a blind panic. He knew how quickly Frodo responded to speech, but he wasn’t quite as responsive to touch.

    Maybe some deeply buried part of Frodo’s mind would recognize a friend’s touch. It was worth a chance, wasn’t it?

    Now back in darkness, Sam felt his way to Frodo’s side and groped the ground until he found Frodo’s hair. He stroked the curls slowly and carefully, making sure not to tangle his fingers and trying not to startle his master.

    An unknown time later, perhaps a few seconds or perhaps a few minutes, there was another flash of lightning. In those brief moments, Frodo’s face looked just a little less tense. Clearly foul dreams still plagued him, but at least Sam managed to reach him.

    Sam lay so that one arm stretched over Frodo’s body, and feeling the rise and fall of his master’s side, he closed his eyes.

 

Deathly shrieks pierced the air, and his entire body screamed in agony from the noise.

    Fire was everywhere. His body and soul burned, all except for an icy fist that gripped his heart.

    Sauron cried out in the Black Speech. He covered his ears, but the sound was everywhere and inescapable.

    Threats of force. Threats of tormenting everyone he loved until they begged for death. Threats of tormenting him until he is barely alive but alive enough to still suffer.

    For a brief instant he found himself able to stand. For a brief instant the fires abated a little bit, and Sauron’s voice was just a little less intimidating.

    But then everything came back.

    He suddenly woke up to blackness, and he realized he felt an arm on him.

    _Is that Sam?_

    He fell back to sleep before he processed his own question.

 

When Sam woke him up the next day, that memory was gone.


End file.
